


Fate, duty, and the lot of a prince

by thereisaredeemer



Category: The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loving Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27513244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisaredeemer/pseuds/thereisaredeemer
Summary: Hector, proud horse-lord, is wounded near to death by Giant Ajax, his friends carry him away from the fighting, and, half unconscious, he relives his last memory of Andromache, his wife, and Scamandrius, his baby son. When he wakes from his delirium he has one request of Agenor, son of Antenor.
Relationships: Andromache/Hector
Kudos: 4





	Fate, duty, and the lot of a prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Contemplation teacher](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Contemplation+teacher).



> Achaeans (a-kee'-unz): Greeks and their allies ranged against the Trojans.  
> Achilles (a-kil'-eez): son of Peleus ant Thetis, grandson of Aeacus, commander of the Myrmidons, Achaean allies.  
> Agenor (a-jee'-nor): Trojan, son of Antenor, father of Echeclus.  
> Ajax (ay'-jax): (1) Achaean , son of Telamon, Telamonian or Great Ajax, commander of the contingent from Salamis. (2) Achaean, son of Oileus, Oilean or Little Ajax, commander of the contingent from Locris.  
> Andromache (an-dro'-ma-kee): daughter of Eetion, wife of Hector.  
> Antenor (an-tee'-nor): Trojan elder, councilor of King Priam, father of many sons who appear throughout the Iliad.  
> Apollo (a-pol'-oh): god, son of Zeus and Leto, twin brother of Artemis, a patron of the arts, especially music and poetry. Also an archer and prophet with a famous shrine at Delphi, in central Greece. The principle divine champion if the Trojans.  
> Argos (ar'-gos): (1) city in the Argoloid under the dominion of Diomededs. (2) The entire Argilid, the kingdom of Agamemnon. (3) The general region of the Achaeans, mainland Greece. (4) Pelasgian Argos, in northeastern Greece, the kingdom of Achilles.  
> Artemis (ar'-te-mis): goddess of the hunt, daughter of Zeus and Leto, sister of Apollo.  
> Astyanax (a-steye'-a-nax): "Lord of the City," infant son of Hector and Andromache.  
> Atreus (ay'-tryoos): father of Agamemnon and Menelaus.
> 
> Cilicia (si-li'-sha): region surrounding Thebe, in the vicinity of Troy.  
> Cronus (kro'-nus): god, son of Uranus, father of Zeus, Hades, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter.
> 
> Diomedes (deye-o-mee'-deez): Achaean, son of Tyedus, king of Argos.
> 
> Eetion (ee-e'-ti-on): (1) king of Cilicians in Thebe, father of Andromache, killed by Achilles. (2) Father of the Trojan Podes. (3) A lord of Imbros and friend of Priam.
> 
> Hector (hek'-tor): Trojan, son of Priam and Hecuba, supreme commander of the Trojans.  
> Hecuba (he'-kew-ba): daughter of Dymas, Priam's queen, mother of Hector.  
> Helen (he'-len): daughter of Zeus, wife of Menelaus, consort of Paris, her abduction by him from Sparta the cause of the Trojan War.  
> Hyperian Spring (hi-pe-reye'-an): spring in Thessaly, in the kingdom of Euryplus.  
> Ida (eye'-da): central mountain and range of the Troad and favored seat of Zeus.  
> Idomeneus (eye-do'-men-yoos): Achaean, son of Deucalion, commander of the continent from Crete.
> 
> Menelaus (me-ne-lay'-us): Achaean, son of Atreus, king of Lacedaemon, brother of Agamemnon, husband of Helen.  
> Messeis (me-see'-is): spring in Greece, location unknown.
> 
> Paris (pa'-ris): Trojan, son of Priam and Hecuba, who abducted Helen from Melelaus in Lacedaemon.  
> Phoebus (fee'-bus): epithet of Apollo.  
> Placos (pla'-kos): mountain above Thebe, in Mysia.  
> Priam (preye'-am): king of Troy, son of Laomedon of the line of Dardanus, father of Hector and Paris.
> 
> Sarpedon (sar-pee'-don): Trojan ally, son of Zeus and Laodamia, co-commander of the Lycians.  
> Scaean Gates (see'-an): the main gates of Troy.  
> Scamander (ska-man'-der): river-god and chief river of the Trojan plain, so called by mortals but called Xanthus by the gods.  
> Scamandrius (ska-man'-dri-us): Alternative name for Astyanax, son of Hector and Andromache.  
> Styx (stix): river of the underworld by which the gods swear their binding oaths.
> 
> Thebe (thee'-bee): city in Troad, the home of Eetion and Andromache, sacked by Achilles.
> 
> Xanthus (xan'-thus): River of the Troad, so called by the gods but called Scamander by mortals, brother of the river Simois.
> 
> Zeus (zyoos): king of the gods, son of Cronus and Rhea, brother and husband of Hera, father of the Olympians and many mortals too. His spheres include the sky and the weather, hospitality and the rights of guests, the punishment of injustice, the sending of omens, and the governance of the universe, controlled to some extent by Fate as well.
> 
> The above is a glossary and guide to pronunciation of proper nouns in the following story, copied from THE ILIAD, translated by ROBERT FAGLES. All dialogue in italics is copied directly from THE ILIAD, translated by ROBERT FAGLES. The dialogue with upright font is original to me, the author. If you do not recognize it, it probably is not canon and has been fabricated by me, the author.
> 
> I wrote this after wondering how Hector could have survived Ajax' attack and what thoughts would have gone through his mind as he was jostled from one place to another. I also wanted a slightly different scene between Andromache and Hector on the ramparts. If by some miracle anyone stumbles upon this, I would dearly appreciate a review to tell me how I did and whether you liked it or not, and why.  
> 11/18/20:  
> I have edited some misspellings and changed hair color (because I got it wrong, Hector is dark, not blond).

Five miles inland, off the ever-changing, ever-moving, green-blue-grey hued sea lay the walled city of Ilium (Troy). High ramparts enclosed the towers and temples, halls and gardens, homes and streets encircling the citadel belonging to the dark-haired Trojans. Within these magnificent buildings the people were subdued. Children congregated quietly; the young boys stood together and spoke of fathers and elder brothers in solemn tones, and girls sat with their mothers smiling with false cheer.

In some places there was weeping and wailing and the singing of funeral dirges. The women tended to their business with a strange silence, their faces were grim and careworn. Now and again one would catch herself upon a wall as sobs wracked her body. A sister, mother, or servant would stop her work and embrace the mourner and after a time both returned to each her own work.

Above those sounds of mourning the cries of wounded men and dying horses mixed, disturbing the peace of the summer afternoon. Outside Troy, upon the sandy beach, row upon row of Achaean ships baked in the hot sun. Between those great hulking hollow hulls and the river Xanthus (Scamander) two great armies clashed. The blood of men and beasts dyed the pale sand scarlet. Stones littered the ground—stumbling blocks for both offender and defender.

But why did they strive against each other that blistering day?

For Helen, Zeus' daughter whom Paris, son of Priam by Hecuba queen, stole away from Menelaus, her wedded husband.

Nine years then, on that day, had they battled there and Troy still stood, her walls unscathed and Helen safe within. Nine years, and Hector, supreme commander, crown prince, had wedded Andromache, daughter of Eetion of Thebe, ruler of Cilica. And by her had Scamandrius, whom the people called Astyanax, a babe, still suckling on his nurse's breast.

For the love of wife and son young Hector fought, for honor too, but for wife and son he yearned and so he fought to return to home and hearth. His limbs were slick with sweat and gore, his helmet rested heavily upon his pouring brows. His long, free hair was plastered to his neck and his heavy bronze armor burned his toughened skin in the bright sun. His voice near gone was he shouted to his weary troops. With insults and with praise he riled the into a frenzy and when that harnessed energy could be held no longer—

The order rang from his parched lips.

Hector raised his strong ash hurtling-spear as yells tore from sand-dried throats; challenges from curling lips. Hurling the long spear with his full strength at the tall form of Ajax, Telemonian, as he turned away from the corpse of some young Trojan, Hector paused. The lance flew true. At the place where two straps intersected, one for scabbard, one for shield, on Ajax’ brawny breast, his ash spear struck, but the hide pulled taunt and the bronze tip glanced off to the side. Beneath his crested helm Hector, horse-lord warrior, seethed. That spear had been his best, reserved for a time of need. But 'twas lost! It lay upon the rock strewn ground, far out of reach, the prize for another man. Yet in his anger the tall and terrible prince did not lose his senses and he backed away, ducking under a stabbing spear and rejoining his own ranks. But as Hector retreated tall Telemonian seized a great stone and hurled it at him.

The prince raised his round shield—but too slow!

The stone stuck him just beneath the throat and the bones cracked and tall Hector, strong Hector, reeled from the blow. His legs buckled. His head spun. He turned. He wavered. He fell. One moment he was upon his own two feet, the next, his spear was slipping from his nerveless grasp, his shield arm dropped, his proud head lowered, the ground came up to meet his face….

A great clanging banging noise clashed around his ears as his breastplate struck a stone and his helm rang against his bronze bracer. As from afar he heard the clamor of the battle as men fought above his crumpled form. Hector raised his heavy, pounding head—he saw the ankles of his defenders, the dead face of a youth, his throat torn out.

Chest in agony, breathing labored, Hector blinked—a different scene met his gaze then….

**lll lll lll**

At the woman's words relief surged through him, Andromache was safe. Scamandrius was with her too. Hector spun upon his heel and ran from his house. Through the streets and up the great stone steps to the ramparts above the Scaean Gates. There he saw her, his light-haired beauty, his wife, Andromache, and his fatigue melted away. Hector's heart beat quickly then and he slowed his hurrying feet.

"Andromache!"

She turned from the bloody scene before her and ran to Hector. Behind her came Scamandrius in the arms of his nurse, but at that moment Hector had eyes for but his young bride.

"Andromache," he crushed her to him and pressed a light kiss on her hair, heedless of the blood that stained his armor. Then, still holding his weeping wife close, he gazed upon his son with a wide smile. His son. Their son. Hector held Andromache tighter and he pressed the cheek of his bronze helmet against her head.

 _"Reckless one, my Hector—your own fiery courage will destroy you!"_ She whispered through her tears. _"Have you no pity for him, our helpless son? Or me, and the destiny that weighs me down, your widow, now so soon? Yes, soon they will kill you off, all the Achaean forces massed for assault, and then bereft of you, better for me to sink beneath the earth. What other warmth, what comfort's left for me, once you have met your doom?Nothing but torment! I have lost my father. Mother's gone as well. Father… the brilliant Achilles laid him low when he stormed Cilica's city filled with people, Thebe with her towering gates. He killed Eetion, not that he stripped his gear—he'd some respect at least—for he burned his corpse in all his blazoned bronze, then heaped a grave-mound high above the ashes and nymphs of the mountain planted elms around it, daughters of Zeus whose shield is storm and thunder. And the seven brothers I had within our halls… all in the same day went down to the House of Death, and the great godlike runner Achilles butchered them all, tending their shambling oxen, shining flocks._

_"And mother, who ruled under the timberline of woody Placos once—he no sooner haled her here with his other plunder than he took a priceless ransom, set her free and home she went to her father's royal halls where Artemis, showering arrows, shot her down. You, Hector—you are my father now, my noble mother, a brother too, and you are my husband, young and warm and strong!_

_"Pity me, please! Take your stand on the rampart here, before you orphan your son and make your wife a widow. Draw your armies up where the wild fig tree stands, there, where the city lies most open to assault, the walls lower, easily overrun. Three times they have tried that point, hoping to storm Troy, their best fighters led by the Great and Little Ajax, famous Idomeneus, Atreus' sons, valiant Diomedes. Perhaps a skilled prophet revealed the spot—or their own fury whips them on to attack."_

Hector nodded and held her all the tighter. How he wished then that he were an other man, one who _could_ shirk his duty and keep his wife by his side. For a moment he understood why Paris would bed with Helen while war raged outside the walls—because he _could_ , tomorrow might bring death. But honest Hector answered, _"All this weighs on my mind too, dear woman. But I would die of shame to face the men of Troy and the Trojan women trailing their long robes if I would shrink from battle now, a coward. Nor does the spirit urge me on that way. I've learned it all too well. To stand up bravely, always to fight in the front ranks of Trojan soldiers, winning my father great glory, glory for myself. For in my heart and soul I also know this well: the day will come when Troy must die, Priam must die and all his people with him, Priam who hurls the strong ash spear…_

_"Even so, it is less the pain of the Trojans still to come that weighs me down, not even of Hecuba herself or King Priam, or the thought that my own brothers in all their numbers, all their valiant courage, may tumble in the dust, crushed by enemies— That is nothing, nothing beside your agony when some brazen Argive hales you off in tears, wrenching away your day of light and freedom! Then far off in land of Argos you must live, laboring at a loom, at another woman's beck and call, fetching water at some spring, Messeis or Hyperia, resisting it all the way—the rough yoke of necessity at your neck. And a man may say, who sees you streaming tears,'There is the wife of Hector, the bravest fighter they could field, those stallion-breaking Trojans, long ago when the men fought for Troy.' So he will say and the fresh grief will swell your heart once more, widowed, robbed of the one man strong enough to fight off your day of slavery._

_"No, no, let the earth come piling over my dead body before I hear your cries, I hear you dragged away!"_

Then he released her and reached for his son—but the boy recoiled, crying out with terror at the sight of his armored father. And Hector laughed for he loved his son and through her tears Andromache laughed too. And Hector removed his flashing helm with its creamy horsehair-crest and set it on the ramparts by his feet. He shook free his long black mane and lifted his son and kissed him and tossed him high till he laughed. And Hector raised his voice to the gods and prayed:

_"Zeus, all you immortals! Grant this boy, my son, may be like me, first in glory among the Trojans, strong and brave like me, and rule all Troy in power and one day let them say, 'He is a better man than his father!'—when he comes home from battle bearing the bloody gear of the mortal enemy he has killed in war—a joy to his mother's heart."_

Then he kissed his son once more and gave him over to his wife as she wept. And tears filled his own eyes and he pressed her close with Scamandrius between them and he stroked her hair, murmuring her name among many endearments. But she hid her face in his strong shoulder and would not be comforted.

So he pried his son from her arms and gave him to the servant woman. Then, turning back to dark-haired Andromache, he took her face in his rough hands, hands still caked with drying blood, and sought her clear blue eyes, filled to overflowing was they were.

 _"Andromache, dear one, why so desperate? Why so much grief for me? No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate. And fate? No man alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you—it's born with us the day we are born."_ But his voice broke, he could not hide his own sorrow, and he kissed her sweet lips. A bitter kiss, a desperate one, a lover's last, a farewell….

Her white arms wrapped around his neck and she murmured his name as their tears mingled.

"Stay Hector. I beg you…."

He pulled her close again and she rested her head on his chest and his fingers traced patterns over her back.

"Andromache, dearest to my heart, please, _go home and tend to your own tasks, the distaff and the loom, and keep the women working hard as well. As for the fighting, men will see to that, all who were born in Troy but I most of all."_

Hector knew she understood. As prince and supreme commander it was his lot to be wherever the bloodshed was worst, wherever the fighting was thickest. He did not have a choice. Regretfully he disentangled his arms from around his young wife and looked her in the eye. Her salty tears were gone, her lips were pressed hard together, and she spoke with the proud courage of her kin.

"If it be my fate to lose all whom I hold dear to great Achilles, so be it. But meet your death with my face before your eyes and make no action, give no order, that you would be shamed to repeat before my eyes. I will return home now, my husband. Zeus grant you never lose your honor nor your foolhardy courage!"

And she kissed his sun-darkened cheek and dried the tears that trailed down at those brave words and placed his horsehair-crested helmet upon his head. Then, nodding to the servant, she slipped away, down the stairs and through the streets, and Hector, brokenhearted Hector, watched her go….

**lll lll lll**

The pain was great, he seemed to be floating in delirium. Hector felt strong hands upon him and he was heaved up on shoulders.

Jolting pain.

Hector cried out, groaning.

Voices he should have known called his name and begged him to stay conscious.

Time seemed to grind to a halt and all Hector was aware of in his haze of pain—gut-wrenching pain—was the weeping face of beautiful Andromache. He called her name and Sarpedon and Agenor who bore him on their shoulders wondered what fears haunted his mind. For near a half-mile they ran till they reached his team of horses, beloved by Andromache. Then back to Troy they sped, the driver calling to the racers for speed, and Sarpedon and Agenor cradled Hector's lulling head. Each breath a great labor, each jolt of the chariot a jarring pain. At times he opened his eyes and saw the helmeted faces above him, at others he thought he felt Andromache carding her fingers through his hair while Scamandrius lay asleep at his side.

How often had the three of them lain together in that way?

Nevermore again.

Never, then, to watch his son grow into a man, to watch Andromache swell with a second child. To stand with her and gaze up at the gleaming stars….

Cold water splashed over Hector's un-helmeted face and he spluttered. Immediately he rolled on his side and curled inward as his bones protested his involuntary movement. The cold water continued to pour down on him, washing away the grime of the battle. Moment by moment Hector took control of himself. His green eyes cleared and he discovered a way of drawing breath that did not wrack his body with hurt. Carefully he rose on trembling hands and knees and coughed up clots of blood. Then he slumped back to the earth and all went black before his eyes….

Pain.

Breath-stealing pain.

"Hector, prince!"

His eyes opened wide as he struggled for life-giving breath. Arms raised him up, supported his dead weight as he vomited up his lifeblood. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down his cheeks and pooled on his upper-lip. Hector heard voices around him but not words. Fingers slipped his armor off and as the weight left his shoulders he heaved a relived sigh only to cringe with pain.

"…be the man to bring her that message."

 _Who, what message?_ Hector's head hung low, his breath so labored that he felt Death closing in on every side. With desperate strength Hector grasped the arm of the man who knelt by his side. Through the haze before his eyes he recognized the face of Agenor, son of Antenor, one of his father's councilors.

“Friend,” he gasped, “I go now with Death, I'll not last the day, swear to me you'll raise my son. Swear you will raise him as your own and protect my wife, dear Andromache."

"Hector—" Agenor began, but the prince cut him off.

"Agenor, swear it now. Guard my widow and raise my son to bring joy to her old age."

And Agenor took pity on his distress and swore, "Earth be my witness now, the vaulting Sky above and the dark cascading waters of the Styx—I swear by the greatest oath that binds! By Zeus, and by the blood I have shed by your side, I shall raise your son, young Astyanax, as my own and protect your widow, the fair Andromache."

And Hector released his arm, at peace now with the knowledge that his wife and son would have a caring home. Once more darkness dropped over his eyes. So proud Hector, man-killing Hector, wavered between Life and Death. Then a hand shook him hard and a voice woke him from his restless sleep.

_"Hector, son of Priam, why so far from your troops? Sitting here half-dead—some trouble's come your way?"_

Hector's eyes opened and he glared at the god who knelt at his side. _"Who are you, my lord—who of the high gods—to probe me face-to-face?"_ Hector's words came slowly as he formed them with meticulous care lest he slur them unintelligibly. _"Haven't you heard? I was killing his friends against the ships when the lord of the war cry Ajax struck me down with a boulder square across my chest—he took the fight right out of me, I can tell you…."_

The god looked down at the dying man and pitied him. Father Zeus had ordered him down to rouse Hector, not heal him, but Phoebus Apollo pitied Hector's pain and he lay his hand upon the mortal's heaving chest and willed the bones to knit together once again. He cured the bleeding of his lungs and breathed strength into his limp limbs. "Live!

_"Look what strong support the son of Cronus speeds from Ida to take your side and shield you—I am Phoebus Apollo, lord of the golden sword! I who saved you before, and along with you your towering city too. So up now, Hector—command your drivers here in all their hundreds to lash their plunging teams at the hollow ships. And I'll surge on ahead, clearing the whole way for the teams' assault—I'll bend the Argives back!"_

So Hector's wounds were healed and his youthful strength returned. He slaked his thirst with the clear flowing water of the fords of the Scamander River and he dunked his head and threw back his wet hair gleaming dark with veins of reddish brown. Scarred and grim he might have been, no match for Paris' girlish beauty, but what he lacked in looks he made up for with brute strength. He buckled on his bronze breastplate and strapped on his bracers and donned his shining helm with cascading creamy crest. Then Hector mounted his chariot and bade his friends join him till they reached the lines of Trojan troops. And the driver called to the great stallions, Andromache's pride, and they leapt forth, speeding over the plain to the line of Trojans. Then the three leapt down and rallied their men and they pushed the Achaeans back. And the Achaeans retreated in fear saying:

 _"Look–a genuine miracle right before_ our _eyes! Hector's escaped again, he's risen from the dead!"_

And all fled before Hector whom Apollo aided….


End file.
